Character type: Dragonrider
Rank: Wingrider
Age: 61
Gender: Female
Sexual Preference: Heterosexual


This woman has wide shoulders and a trim waist, for all that she’s getting on in years. Average in height, she has the sleek musculature of someone who has known the value of a hard days work for her entire life. Black as a crow's wing (we will not mention the streaks of silver) and straight as a pin, her hair hangs to the middle of her back. Most often it’s contained in a tight braid that keeps it out of the way while fighting thread.

Her jawline is strong and would almost be too much if her eyes were not such a dominate feature, the almond-shape alone enough to draw attention but the deep brown just draws one in. She is not what anyone would call ‘pretty’ or ‘beautiful’, she’s memorable and perhaps occasionally handsome if she puts some effort into it. Her skin has an olive cast to it, which has deepened to a burnished sort of tan from her years in the sun. Time has been kind to her, but she does bear small creases of laugh lines about her mouth and eyes.


Once a carefree sort of person the youth that so embraced such things has long grown up. Faralyn loves deeply, but this love is reserved for her lifemate, her child and his children. She enjoys dropping gifts to them, even if only as a surprise. It’s her way of letting them know that she loves them, as well as that she is watching them. Her wry twist of humor is often dry, or sarcastic but this doesn’t seem leave her at a loss of companions.

While not a person that everyone loves or gathers to she is a comfortable sort to be around, even if she occasionally delivers a biting remark. She speaks her mind and is unafraid of the consequences of it, if she has something to say about you she’ll probably say it to your face first. The first Threadfall left wounds on her soul that she is still trying to salve, feelings of failure and heartache that so many young riders are gone and yet she herself remains. This only makes her more determined to stay within the fighting Wings as long as possible. Thread is her enemy, she will destroy it at every opportunity.


Birthplace: Ista Weyr, 8.385.7.27

Once upon a time there was a child born to a brownrider by the name of F’raz and a woman of the lower cavern. Such pairings were not unusual and thus the product of such things were more than welcome within the creche. Her father took an interest in her when he had the time, trinkets here or there and an occasional pat on the head. It was the creche that kept track of her more often than not though, her mother having her own work to tend to within the lower caverns.

These things bothered Faralyn not at all, they were the way things were and the way things were supposed to be. Thus she grew from child to adolescent in such a setting, giving no small amount of creche workers gray hair with her antics. Alternatingly lazy or into trouble she still managed to get through her Harper classes without causing too much of a fuss. Things remained pretty much the same until she began standing for hatchings. At her second attempt on the sands she departed them triumphantly with a blocky green dragonet.

As a weyrling she found a dedication to her lifemate that lended itself to other aspects of her life. While she still enjoyed rising late on occasion her habitual laziness rarely showed itself any longer. Saywinth completed her in a way she didn’t even realize she was lacking. She was never possessed of a want to earn her parents approval but for her green she would endure just about anything. Turns passed and they both grew older, flights came and went as well as the occasional lover. Two children were all that she ever managed to carry to term and of the two only one made it to adulthood. R’fan is her pride and joy, even if she left most of his raising to the creches she made herself more a part of his life than either of her parents had ever been. Her joy knew no bounds when he impressed a bronze on the hot sands.

With the threat of Thread rapidly approaching as her and Saywinth entered their later years she strove all more to keep herself and her dragon in fighting trim. They would be there to meet the menace and they would /triumph/. Some would call her too old to do such a thing, but riders age well as do their beasts and so Faralyn felt no guilt over remaining with a Wing as the days of Thread drew nearer. It was a horrible fateful day that dawned with the arrival of the airborne menace a day that Faralyn will never forget. Dragons screaming in pain, death upon death of riders and their lifemates… it is forever etched into her memory. Only Saywinth and Faralyn’s tight bond and quick air tactics kept them from a similar fate, and Faralyn will tell you that pure blind luck played a huge part as well. What scars she bears from that day are internal as well as external, though rarely does anyone see the scores that mark along her side and thigh.



Mother: Rynai, lower caverns worker (deceased)
Father: F’raz, rider of brown ? (deceased)

Son: R'fan, rider of bronze Ronageth
Daughter: Lynnela (deceased)

Granddaughters: Zeffaryn, Annaca and probably others.
Grandsons: She suspects there are some of these too.

Faralyn's Dragon: Green Saywinth

Colour: green
Age: 48
Weyr of Origin: Ista Weyr
Weyrling Class: 8.402.6.7
Wing: Stormriders


This green is one of those that isn’t quite the usual shade. From headknobs to tail tip she is a uniform myrtle green, a dark color that seems to absorb the light that comes into contact with it. In build she is a bit on the larger size, though she’s a blocky sort of green. Grace and delicate are not words that would be describe this veteran green dragon.


One might often hear of the flightiness of greens, this is not one of those times. Saywinth was hatched with a level head and it has only gotten more throughout the turns. This was an auspicious beginning, as her young impressee was in need of someone who looked before they leapt. All due consideration must be taken before something is undertaken, even if it means beginning that much earlier than everyone else. Otherwise they would be forever late and that is an unacceptable outcome as well. This is not to say she doesn’t have her moments of pique, for she does! They are mostly reserved for when she rises though, as if she saves all her suppressed flightiness for the proper date and time.

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